


Sleepless Dreams.

by fearless_seas



Series: Halemadge || Pythias & Damon [3]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American History RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Illnesses, M/M, Nathan just wants his boyfriend to be okay, Sick Character, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 02:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11682180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”





	Sleepless Dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Fic request from anonymous that I will build upon later when I start writing the Halemadge fic:
> 
> Halemadge #76: “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

August, 1771 

_______________________

          Benjamin Tallmadge was never sick. Or, at least that was how it was before the measles outbreak. Nathan hadn’t intended to get Ben sick. No one knew exactly whom had begun the epidemic–though they both at the beginning pegged James Hillhouse as he had gone home for two weeks during the summer. Before long, Ben was discreetly brushing his forearm underneath the desk of their class with a sense of bewilderment emphasizing his facial features. There were at least seven empty desk chairs–the number only grew as time bore on.

          Ben hadn’t minded in the slightest when classes were cancelled the following week. “It’s most likely the flu,” he commented, sitting back on the backboard of his bed and setting the book he was reading down on his stomach, “but of course,” he paused before picking up on the pages where he’d left off, “that’s just what I’ve heard.”

          Nathan accepted this even though he touched two fingers to his jugular, a growing sense of anxiety quivering in his gut.  _The flu still kills,_  he thought, clearing his throat–Ben gave him reassurance anywhere. He passed a glance over to Enoch who was resting with a hand draped over the side of the bed, he looked rather flushed at the face.

          Hours rolled by and Enoch didn’t rise from his bed that evening for dinner even after rocking him. Ben coaxed Nathan to the ground floor of Connecticut Hall though he exhibited reluctance. ”He’s just tired, let him rest.” Nathan didn’t touch his food, Ben took bites from his meal when the professors turned the back while making rounds, saving him from scolding and they both noted the few amount of students in the Hall. He was grateful for that and for Ben. They only called a Sir into their room after Enoch groaned and wouldn’t lift to wash up. The Sir pressed a hand to Enoch’s forehead and Nathan witnessed how the sweat glistened on his forehead. His stomach began to church, “Just like the others”, the Sir remarked, motioning with a shake of his head in either pity of annoyance. 

 _Who’s next?_  Nathan lamented privately.

          The Sir left the room, shutting the door behind himself as he went. Nathan remained largely quiet, focusing at Enoch’s cot where his face seemed twisted in illness. Ben came up behind him, squeezing his wrist and spinning him around to where they were facing one another. “He’ll be alright,” his eyes were filled with a gentle pool of reassurance, Nathan believed him in a heartbeat and his shoulders lost their tension. Not entirely thinking and ignoring how his own throat tingled like fire and how shaky his footing felt, he inclined forward, seizing Ben’s collar in the hovering candle light and capturing his lips. 

 _Who’s next?_  

          The cold water from the basin made him shiver and he could barely hold the washcloth firmly. Ben inquired if he was alright, he submitted a weak simper and lied to him. The blanket seemed as if it was holding him underwater, he didn’t stumble for breath and hastily drifted off without struggle. Nathan’s head felt heavy when he awoke the next morning, his mouth dry and he had not hardly the strength to cover his mouth when he coughed. He heard Ben whispering his name, but he shut his eyes and drifted back to sleep, jointed feeling like scratching rocks.

          He was vigilant only occasionally, eyes struggling to pull back down and he forced them open. He did remember Ben fighting with a professor who seemed twice his size in the doorway of their dorm room, throwing his arms above his head in either exasperation or desperation. Ben won the fight, it seemed, as he didn’t go to breakfast that morning, instead tugging a chair right up next to his bedside and postulating himself in the seat.

          “You shouldn’t be here”, Nathan mustered the strength to spill words after accepting a glass of water that was brought to his lips.

          Ben gave an unimpressed eyebrow, “It’s charming how you’re willing to sacrifice seeing my face for a while,” Nathan felt his chapped lips rip as he smiled at this, “however, I believe I am fine right where I am.”

          There was a grab for Ben’s hand, “You’re going to get ill,” on queue almost, Enoch’s mattress creaked as he clenched his stomach and groaned across the room. His fingers felt like water through he knew Ben’s digits laced his own.          

          “Seeing your face is quite enough to get me a fever”, the world seemed to close in on this intimacy, “I don’t get sick, remember?”, his elbow came up to guard a cough and his voice sounded like gravel.

          Nathan believed him and Ben shifted on his knees, kneeling before his bed. He forgot the rest. Perhaps it was the kiss in the secret confinement of their room that brought it all crumbling down.

          Nathan awoke the next morning to a start, gathering his conscious and wiping dried sweat off of his own forehead with his hand, he perceived it as though it was carrying the enfolded against the knuckles. It all was off, his puffy eyes searched but discovered Ben was not there beside him. He peered farther to his right, over at Ben’s bed; sure enough, he was there, pale, flushed cheeks and a countenance of pure illness.

          “Damon?”, he called.

          Ben’s voice in reply could barely be heard over the late summer wind that was beating leaves against the window. “I… told you…”, Ben’s knees curled up to his chest, “I don’t get…”, his voice broke off and he shivered underneath the blanket.

          This time, Nathan could not conjure up any piece of him to believe this.

          It was a week before Nathan recovered, however, he did so before anyone else in his dorm room. He sat by Ben’s bedside, reading, and leaning over every once and while to wipe a cold cloth against his forehead or tug the blanket back up to his chin when it slipped from his body. He closed the book, Enoch’s complexion had returned but he had already turned in for the evening, snoring into his pillow. The blonde made his way back to his own bed, peering at Ben’s form, swallowing nervously and he blew out the candle.

          Ben would only wake up intermittently, lifting himself before fastening his eyes again and they rolled back into his skull. His surface was clammy, burning to the touch and he whimpered in his slumber. Fear riveted through his chest, pulsating around his heart.

          Enoch recovered a few days after he did and a couple days later, classes resumed on a Monday. The prayer bell rang every morning 4:30 and he rubbed his eyelids with exhaustion before dressing and heading down the stairs. He always ceased a minute at the doorway before Enoch placed a hand on his shoulder, hauling him away with pursed lips, clicking the door shut.

          The local physician, Dr. Eneas Munson came and went, each time Nathan tipped Ben’s chin up as Munson slipped a spoonful of medicine onto his tongue. Without hesitation, each moment after the doctor exited the room, Nathan blundered between the sheets of Ben’s cot, wrapped his arm around his chest–never drifting off.

          Two weeks flashed by, Nathan had gotten used to the terror that enveloped his nerves something he was unable to shake off. He couldn’t pay attention as he knew Ben lay in pain in his bed, he stared at the empty seat next to him with his chin rested on his wrist. Distracted he failed to answer the professor’s question, his arm was grabbed, ripped up from his desk and he heard Roger Alden not even endeavoring to mask his laughter from across the room. His cheeks flushed, he slammed himself back into his seat, glimpsing the desolate chair beside him. He respired, shoulders slumping–it was not at all the same.

          Jack Wyllys poked at his food that night, tapping his spoon against the tabletop, “Ben hasn’t been in class for weeks”, their area of the table grew into reticence and Nathan cast his view down at his plate, setting his jaw.

          In retort, Thomas Meade covered his mouth, chewing and then swallowing before piping in from beside Jack, “I heard he’s going to be sent home soon.”

          “I heard they’ve confined him to Munson’s in fear he’ll catch to others.”

          There seemed to be consensus of agreement and they all nodded, not returning to their business. Nathan tensed, narrowing his eyes, anger drumming in his skull, throbbing across his veins, he dug his nails into the palms of his hands, mouth beginning to taste like blood. From beside him, Enoch’s firm grip landed underneath the table onto his wrist, holding him down,  _don’t do it,_ those fingers seemed to be piercing into his skin.

          Ezra Sampson shrugged his shoulders, not dismissing these notions, “Tallmadge is knocking on death’s door”, he shook his head tapping his fingers against the table absentmindedly.

          “Enough!”, Nathan rose from the table, the bench screeching against the floor and all eyes turned to him. He threw his napkin at his food, leaping from where he was knowing if he did not leave, Ezra would bleed. Enoch didn’t attempt and stop him, but he heard his name being shouted across the mess hall. He couldn’t hear them over the blood thrumming in his eardrums. He slammed the door of their room behind him, skidding to the floor, holding back tears.

          There recalled to be no sense of improvement even after nearly three weeks. Everything appeared to numb him except those moments when he stayed into the late hours reading to sleeping silhouette. Enoch dozed off, Nathan parted his eyes once again, eyeing his brother’s sleeping form and nibbling on his lip. A pale moon drifted in through the curtains, the still summer heat made his heart calm, beating without a sense of rhythm.

          Ben was so pale. The moon made be seem almost ghostly, his lips no less a beautiful fuchsia in the consuming light. He perched on the edge of the bed and the springs creaked with ease. He didn’t even bother checking to see if Enoch had awoken from the sound. Ben’s brows creased and his bouche parted but no sound admitted from the space. He grasped the sheets in his fists and gulped, inclining and clearing the perspiration off of Ben’s forehead, sweeping strands of chestnut hair off that had shifted in front of his eyelids.

          “Damon?”, he let the backside of his hand slide against his cheek and drop to his neck–scorching to the touch. His vision remained shut and it almost intimated as if he was wincing in his sleep as though withered from a nightmare. Sweat accumulating on his skin, Ben revolved onto his side and drew in a large, extending and sleepy breath. There was places in Nathan that seemed to wilt whenever he had to leave the sheets at dawn. They could barely fit together, half of his body hung off the cot.

          His fatigued mind recessed on the pillow, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging Ben closer to the V of his stomach, throwing his legs over his waist and their ankles knocked together. The palms of his hands seemed to find a home looped among his fingertips and Nathan wondered if this was the only thing he would ever get;  _what if he never woke up?_

          Every single night, even as the darkness swallowed the blackened world, he willed to tell him exactly how beautiful he seemed, tell him how, “I love you…”, it came out rather raspy and he almost regretted conveying those words even if he knew Ben couldn’t listen to them. He felt like just a speck of sunlight surrounded by an entire forest of green.

          Tears brimmed his eyes and he did not bother to rid blink them back. He rustled until Ben’s head lay in the crook of his neck. **“You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”** His lips quivered and his chest trembled inward. He couldn’t do it without him, he held him closer, burying his nose in his hair.

          It was silent, until Ben stirred a moment, muttering incoherently, and squeezing Nathan’s hand. The blonde gave out a short, silent laugh, wiping the tears from his lashes and drinking in his scent. He nearly didn’t catch that way he weakly pressed his hand, and he shushed him, threading fingers through his hair, kissing his ear. Nathan fell asleep with a smile;  _Ben will be fine._

          Nathan slipped from the bed that morning at the usual prayer bell, ascending and cracking his stiff neck, stepping away from the bed before Ben grabbed the back of his nightshirt. Nathan spun around, Ben was barely awake, struggling weakly to maintain a weary composure, “I can’t either.”

          Nathan didn’t believe he heard that correctly, but the way Ben’s thumb pressed into the bed of his wrist illustrated it all. He exhaled, anxiety shifting out of his lungs. 

          Nathan returned in the late afternoon, to which Ben sat up on his mattress with a smile, “Oh how I’ve missed  _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Comments are highly appreciated, thank you for reading.


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